


Self-Assembly

by moodycactus



Series: The Imposter & The Remedy [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Grant Ward Redemption, Humor, M/M, POV Grant Ward, POV Multiple, Past Child Abuse, Skimmons is more of an entree than main focus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:18:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3440108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodycactus/pseuds/moodycactus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'The Devil's in the Details'.  Fitz is on a mission to find Ward and so is Skye. Will Simmons be able to stop them clashing? And where is Ward and why has he stopped running? The three friends get more than they bargained for in their search, hijinks ensue and Ward shows his true colours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Litmus Test

Simmons waved a hand at the holographic display in the lab, bringing up a 3D render map of a brain. “The frontal lobe in your brain seems to remain completely normal. Such a healthy broca area!”

Fitz shrugged, aiming for casual. “There’s no stopping superior Scottish genes.”

“Make jokes all you want, but we still don’t understand the science behind your recovery and more importantly, whether or not it’s permanent.”

Fitz looked away, wanting to avoid Simmon’s concerned gaze. She seemed to be always full of unspoken questions about Ward and what really happened; he just didn’t have the heart to lie to her. Fitz had told the team about Selene and what Ward had sacrificed to attain that, he just left out that he’d been personally involved with Ward. He didn’t know what to call what they’d shared over those few days, how could he tell everyone else?

“So um, are you hungry?” asked Fitz, trying to change the subject. “Got some of that leftover quiche on in the oven.”

Simmons smiled, almost as though she was willing things back to how they used to be between them. “Lunch would be lovely. I’ll fetch us a fresh pot of coffee.”

Fitz nodded absently, pretending to be absorbed with work on his tablet until she exited the lab. 

Once he was alone, Fitz switched connections on his tablet, accessing the separate secure line out. With Skye and her comprehensive surveillance programs of all communications going in and out of the base, Fitz had been forced to rig a separate line out. Hacking hardware was basically engineering after all. But he’d left the more incriminating online search for Ward to Martin, one of his old buddies from the Academy.

Martin now worked for the CIA and was using their resources to search for Ward but had no luck over the past month. Fitz inhaled a shaky breath and opened the messaging app. 

_Got a hit on W in Pleasant Beach, Florida. Vicki_CougarVixen posted a pic that’s 86% match on her instagram account. Leave it for you to follow up._

_M._

Fitz stared at the message. They’d finally found Ward! Well, he shouldn’t jump to any conclusions, he’d have to check this woman’s instagram and- 

Someone burst into the lab, jolting Fitz from his thoughts. It was Skye, brandishing her index finger like a gun in a firing squad. 

“You! I knew it was you!” she accused, chin jutting out. 

Fitz jolted on his stool and had to scramble to remain balanced. “W-what?! What are-”

“Oh save it Fitz, I know you’ve modified the connection node. I suspected something ever since the latency was affected. What’s really at play? You defecting? Did Ward brainwash you on your little trip away?”

“Wha- No! That’s not true!” spluttered Fitz.

“Then why else would you secretly search for someone who kidnapped you?! You think you can fix him? You think he’s your friend?” 

Fitz sighed heavily. “Skye, just stop already. You don’t know what you’re on about.” He moved to get up and leave but Skye blocked him off. 

“Did he bat those little doe eyes of his and promise you things that you stupidly believed? Is that it? You need your best friend back in one piece?”

“What? No, don’t be daft,” Fitz protested weakly. He could feel his face start to blush bright red.

Skye stared at him, her mouth agape. Fitz stared back at her in horror. She knew.

“Wow. You know for such a smart guy, you’re really stupid,” she sneered.

“What’s going on?” asked Simmons. Fitz turned to see that Simmons had came back into the lab, pot of coffee in hand, her eyes darting between Fitz and Skye. 

“Skye just burst in here with all these crazy accusations and excessive finger pointing.” Fitz jabbed his own finger in Skye’s direction. 

Skye stepped closer to Fitz, her face all wide eyed innocence. “Ohh so now you’re saying you didn’t set up a secondary external ethernet connection to secretly contact your pal Martin, and get him to look for your buttbuddy Ward. No? That wasn’t you?”

“Um, okay...I’m just going to leave you both to-” Simmons began.

“No, stay here. I’ve got nothing to hide.” Fitz crossed his arms and glared back at Skye. “In fact, I’m bloody sick of tiptoeing around for the sake of Skye’s ‘precious’ feelings. Yes, I’m trying to find Ward. So what?”

“So what?! Are you kidding me?! Did you forget that he’s a freaking psychopath that tried to kill you and Simmons?! Maybe your brain’s still scrambled.”

“Skye!” gasped Simmons.

Fitz shot a withering look at Skye. “No, what this is about you and your ego. Little Miss Hacker too clever to ever be caught-””

“He’s a Nazi!” Skye spat out. 

“- Cept you weren’t so clever with Miles and then history repeated with Ward and now you can’t handle it!” said Fitz, slapping his tablet down on the bench to emphasise his point. 

Simmons got between them both, gently pushing them away from each other. “Guys, why don’t just take a minute to calm down and try to use our indoor voices.”

“Oh, har har. Oh, I can’t handle it,” Skye laughed sarcastically, ignoring Simmons. “Can you handle what Vicki_CougarVixen is doing with Ward? What did he do to you anyway? Wet your whistle? Lick your lamppost? Rock your spank shack? Pump your gas real good?” 

Fitz scowled at Skye, his face a bright red beacon of shame. “Screw you Skye!”

“I’d say Screw you Fitz but I bet Ward already did that job!!”

“ENOUGH!” cried Simmons, hurling the coffee pot to the floor. 

Skye and Fitz whipped around to stare at Simmons, both their mouths open in shock. 

Simmons glowered at both of them. “We have so many enemies out there! I will not have both my friends attacking each other in here. Fitz, you’re an idiot for keeping this from us, especially me. Skye, Fitz kept secrets from you because you are being a bloody self-righteous prig about Ward.”

“But Ward-” began Skye. Simmons waved a hand, silencing her.

“Yes, Ward has done terrible things, but he also sacrificed a lot to mend Fitz and help us. More than I’ve done to help Fitz recover. I trust Fitz, and if he trusts Ward, thats enough for me to be at least be open minded. People aren't so black and white.”

Skye grabbed Simmons’ arm. “Black and white? He’s a murderer!” 

“So is most of SHIELD - so are you, as I recall,” countered Fitz.

Skye responded with a death glare that would have done May proud. 

“Guys! Stop it!” Simmons slammed her hands down on the table. She looked between the two of them, making sure she had their attention. “This is what we’ll do. We’ll find Ward, together. Just the three of us. Fitz says Ward's different now; Skye doesn't believe him. Fine, let’s test that. We’ll run a blind experiment, a litmus test if you will, to see if Ward goes for money, Hydra, or SHIELD. If its anything other than the latter, Skye gets to bring him in. Deal?”

“Deal,” muttered Fitz. 

“Fine,” shrugged Skye, her fingers already rapidly at work on Fitz’s tablet. Images popped up on the holographic display. Images mainly of a older blonde woman with a penchant for showing off her big bust. Vicki_CougarVixen’s instagram, Fitz read. 

“Check out this MILF.” cackled Skye.

“Ugh, I hate that word,” sighed Simmons. 

Skye brought up a image of a brunette woman sprawled over a shirtless man - Ward - on a park bench. “Hands off my man, Trisha,” Skye read the caption out loud. “Well, well, well, Fitz.”

“Don’t,” said Fitz. He didn't care about Skye’s little jabs or that there was some older woman in lycra climbing all over Ward, his Ward. Fitz was just happy to see that Ward was alright, heck, it looked like he even had gotten a nice tan. 

Skye’s fingers rapidly tapped on the keyboard. A few blurry images of Ward popped up from various security cams. “Judging from the time stamps, it seems like he’s been based in Pleasant Beach, Florida for a while.”

“Florida? Why would Ward be in Florida?” asked Simmons.

Skye shrugged. “Beats me. It’s like the armpit of America. Give me a sec, I’ll narrow down his location.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter completed a while back, and someone requested I post it. Waiting to post a complete work in one go doesn’t seem to be as effective in getting more views, so I’ll update this work chapter by chapter. Tags will be updated accordingly. I have a good idea with where the plot is going, just no promises on quick updates. Hope you like it :)


	2. Pleasant Beach

“Trisha, get off the poor man. You’re looking more desperate than usual,” Vicki called out. “Grant has to share himself around.”

Grant looked up, relieved for once to see Vicki. Vicki was all acrylic nails and cleavage, topped with masses of hair extensions. He patted Trisha’s leg reassuringly. “Just keep stretching it out until the cramp goes away.”

Grant carefully extracted himself from Trisha and her grasping hands, and addressed the gaggle of middle aged women.

“Alright ladies, let’s go for a brisk jog to cool down and then we’ll call it a day.”

“We’re not going to partner up and practice getting out of choke holds?” cooed Vicki, sounding far too excited by the idea.

“Ah no, how about we save that for Thursday. Come on ladies, let’s go. Once around the park to cool down.”

Grant jogged with them around the perimeter of the park, encouraging them as they went. He was proud of them. As a whole, they were game enough to try anything and surprisingly fit, considering their age. He’d had altered their fitness program to suit, adding more self defence training.

The group training had been Pearl’s idea. Hell, he wouldn’t have even considered staying in Pleasant Beach if he hadn’t met Pearl. For an old lady, she was pretty cool. Grant smiled to himself. Tonight was Meatloaf Monday. His mouth was watering already.

They finished their circuit around the park. Grant turned to his little group.

“Great job everyone, that’s a wrap. I’ll see you same time on Thursday.”

Most of the ladies seemed a little out of breath but not too worse for wear. The skinny one, Cheryl was absent again. He had a hunch something was off about her, she seemed very withdrawn and kept her body covered up, even when it was hot. “Anyone know why Cheryl was a no show?”

Vicki waved him off. “Cheryl? Her husband keeps her on a short leash, if you know what I mean. I’d never let myself get tied up like that.”

“Yeah,” said Trisha, interjecting. “Divorce is more Vicki’s style.”

Vicki whirled around, beet red. “Trisha!”

Sensing things were about to get awkward, Grant quickly excused himself from his little fitness group and headed back home to Pearl’s on foot. It wasn’t far. Just a brief jog down the beach, past the little marina with its tiny boats and then down a street off the main strip.

Pearl’s battered old house was painted in a blue so faded it almost appeared white. The two storey house was too big for a little old lady to live by herself. But she refused to move into one of the retirement homes that were gradually overtaking Pleasant Beach. It was her late husband’s home and she wasn’t leaving. But Pearl’s arthritis meant that she rarely even went upstairs, which meant he had all of the upper level to himself. He found her in the kitchen slicing strawberries, glasses halfway down her nose.

“We’ll have a flan for dessert tonight, with strawberries fresh from the garden,” she told him.

Ward grinned. “Can’t wait. Hey, you know anything about Cheryl Crowder?”

Pearl brushed back her wispy grey hair. “Can’t say that I do. But those Crowder’s are nothing but trouble. Always have been. Why do you ask?”

“She missed a couple of sessions. It’s probably nothing but I’m going to go check on her. Just in case.”

“Are you fixin for trouble Grant?” asked Pearl, regarding him with a look that would make elite operatives quake in their boots.

Ward averted his gaze and stole a sliced strawberry. “Are you going to try talk me out of going over there?”

“No, just that I remember a story where one of the Crowder boys kept a shotgun ready by the front door, so you best be using the side door.”

“Thanks, Pearl. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Best be careful!” Pearl called out. But Grant was already halfway out the door.

 

* * *

 

The sun had started to set by the time Grant returned. He leaned against the veranda’s wooden railing and tried to gather himself, head bowed.

‘It’s in the past,’ he mentally told himself. ‘Don’t be stupid. Let it go.’

But that scared little boy’s face, Cheryl’s child, haunted him. He’d seen that expression on his brother’s face so many times.

_He was balled up in the corner by the bed and wall, trying to make himself smaller. Hot tears streamed down his face. Father rained blows down on them, whipping at them with his belt, the metal tip biting into his flesh._

_“Where’s the money?!” demanded Father._

_“I don’t know,” he sobbed. Five dollars was so much. Father was gonna kill him and then who’d protect them from Father?_

_“That’s not an answer!” roared Father, striking out with the strap, over and over. “Quit sobbing like a little girl.” Father turned to face Tommy, who cowered behind the toy chest, eyes wide and his little body frozen with fear. “Or maybe it was you, you little wimp.”_

Grant exhaled deeply and forced his mind to blank. He focused on his immediate surroundings. The wind whispering through the trees, the wooden beam beneath his hand coarse with cracked paint, the sound of crickets greeting the approaching night sky, the aroma Pearl’s meatloaf drifting outside. His emotions slowly subsided.

It was over. Father was dead and couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. And the Crowder boy was safe now too. Grant wiped the blood from his knuckles before heading inside.

 

* * *

 

A tense silence loomed inside the van that morning. Fitz tried to focus on his monitor and ignore Skye. Why was Simmons taking so long? He didn’t want to be alone with Skye. They hadn’t really spoken since their row.

After a tense few minutes, Skye broke the silence. “Any activity in m-”

“No.” replied Fitz, eyes locked on his screen.

“Have you done a systems check on-“

“Yes.”

There was a pause. Fitz heard Skye fidget with something. “Are you still mad at me?” she asked.

“I’m not.”

“Well for what’s it’s worth, I’m sorry for the things I said - um, before I mean. I was a complete jerkface. Regardless about how I feel about Ward, I don’t want to fight with you.”

Fitz glanced over at Skye, startled by the unexpected apology. He was relieved that underneath it all, she was still the Skye he knew. “Same. I’m sorry for what I said too. I guess this whole thing isn’t easy for you.”

“Or for you,” said Skye softly.

The tension was diffused but Fitz still felt awkwardly uncomfortable. What was he supposed to say now?

He was saved by the van door sliding open. Simmons had returned from the morning cafe run, arms laden with coffees and pastries. Her eyes flicked between Fitz and Skye. “Hi guys, anything happen? Has he left the house yet?”

“Nope, we’re all good,” said Skye. Fitz nodded, a brief smile on his lips.

Simmons dumped the box of pastries down and started to hand out the coffees. “Oh my gosh, you would not believe who I saw at the cafe! That awful Vicki milf-woman!”

Skye snorted, delighted to hear Simmons say milf.

“I felt like I was stalking a celebrity, trying not to stare while Vicki was all over the barista. It’s like she has no shame or sense of propriety. First she gave him her number instead of her name and then said - and i quote, ‘I like my baristas like I like my coffee – hot, sweet, and extra creamy’.”

Fitz and Skye burst out laughing.

“Honestly, I felt embarrassed for the poor barista boy. She was old enough to be his grandmother!” Simmons started to struggle out of her coat. “If I was her doctor, I’d check her hormone levels to see-”

She broke off as Skye reached out, helping pull off her coat and then fix her collar. A faint blush crept out on Simmon’s cheeks. Fitz pretended he didn’t notice and turned away to check the monitors. The implications of Simmon’s reaction was too much to think about right now.

Ward emerged from the house, barefoot and wearing only a white singlet and old low slung jeans. Fitz’s heart thudded in his chest.

“Guys, Ward’s on the move,” he said.

They huddled around the monitor. Ward went to the garage and tugged open the door.

“Is he going to head off? Should I start the engine?” asked Skye.

Simmons frowned. “I don’t think so. He hasn’t driven once in past few days we’ve been watching him.”

The garage held a vintage car, painted a bright cherry red. “That’s an Edsel,” muttered Fitz. “Rare car from the fifties.”

“What’s he up to?” asked Simmons, peering in closely.

Ward lifted the hood and leaned over to work on the engine.

“Would never have thought it possible,” murmured Fitz, his voice low. “Ward just got hotter.”

Skye, to her credit, remained silent.

"Erm, Skye, did you check the pastries?" asked Simmons, her tone bright and warm. "I got your favourite."

Fitz smiled to himself. It was all so obvious now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who commented and requested for more. It really helps motivate me. Apologies for being slow with this chapter. I'm still not entirely happy with it's execution but I've wasted enough time being fussy. Hopefully it's clear enough to readers. The flashback abuse scene is realistic, because similar happened to me. Ten points if you know where I got the name Crowder from. Anywhoo, let me know what you think. All feedback is appreciated :)


	3. The Deadly Rake

The sun was setting on yet another warm day, streaking the sky with vivid pinks and purples. Grant had said his goodbyes to his little fitness group and was jogging back home along his usual route. He jogged down the beach walkway, along the little marina, it’s tiny boats dwarfed by a large luxury superyacht, the Kismet. It was so large there wasn’t even a berth that could fit it. A heavyset man lingered out on it’s deck, an obvious bump in his jacket where his firearm was hidden.

Grant paused, pretending to stretch out his hamstring. What was a multi-million dollar boat doing here in a small town like Pleasant Beach? Had someone tracked him down? Or just organised crime? He discreetly took a few snaps of the yacht with his phone. Something he had to look into later.

Pearl’s car wasn’t in the driveway when Grant got home. Normally, she was home and cooking dinner by this time. Grant was about to open the front door when he heard a strange noise from out back.

Adrenaline kicking in, Grant silently crept around the side of the house, scanning the perimeter for threats as he went. He grabbed a nearby rake as a makeshift weapon. Ascertain the disturbance, eliminate the intruder.

Two denim-clad legs were sticking out of the narrow bathroom window. There was a thump and the sound of something breaking and the legs and their owner disappeared inside.

“Bloody sodding…” said a familiar scottish voice.

“Fitz?” Grant called out.

There was a clatter of noise. Then Fitz’s curly head poked out the window, flushed bright red. “Oh! Ward! Erm… this isn’t what it looks like, well I spose in a way it-”

Time seemed to slow as Grant stared up at him. _Fitz_ was here? Was SHIELD with him? Coulson wouldn’t use Fitz like that - or would he? What have they done with Pearl? His ingrained training told him this was some kind of trap, that he should grab his go-bag he’d stashed away and get the hell out of here. But all that was in a distant part of his mind. Grant just wanted to get inside, bound upstairs and see Fitz.

Wordlessly, Grant turned and quickly made his way back around to the front. A breathless Fitz opened the front door, just as he came up the porch steps. They both froze for a moment, neither saying a word. Fitz looked so pale in the shadows of the dark house, staring back at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. All those emotions came rushing back. Guilt, shame, relief, yearning, panic; the same churning mass of emotions Grant felt that terrible day he left Fitz alone in that bed.

“Could you put the rake down?” asked Fitz, finally breaking the tense silence. “You look ridiculous but I can’t help thinking about all the ways you could turn it into a deadly weapon.”

That cut at him. Grant looked down at the rake still tightly grasped in his hands. Frowning, he propped it up against the wall. “I’d never hurt you,” said Grant, his jaw so tight he barely got the words out.

“I know. I didn’t mean -” Fitz cut himself off, gaze diverted to something behind Grant.

A car pulled up. It’s engine sounded familiar to Grant’s ears and he spun around. Pearl was home. He gave her a wave and went to help her with her shopping bags. Her arrival put him at more at ease. Pearl brought routine and reassuring predictability.

“Oh, thank you,” said Pearl with smile, as Grant collected her bags from her little hatchback. Pearl paused on her way back to the house when she caught sight of Fitz, who was still standing at the front door. “Oh hello there,” she said, beaming warmly at Fitz. “Grant, you should’ve said we had company, I would have set my hair.”

“You’re not the only one who’s surprised,” muttered Grant, following close behind. “Pearl, meet Fitz. Fitz, Pearl.” He spoke quickly, trying to gain control of the conversation. “Back in the day, Fitz served with me but as an engineer. He’s very clever, maybe too clever. You’d best keep an eye on him.”

“Nice to meet you, Pearl,” said Fitz, ignoring him. Grant glared at his back as they went inside. Questions buzzed at him like a swarm of hornets. Just what was he playing at? Was he sticking around to warn Pearl about her horrible house guest? Was she under surveillance too now? Where was the rest of the team?

“And you as well. That’s a lovely accent you have there,” replied Pearl, seemingly unaware of the brewing tension. “Just make yourself comfortable and I’ll get us some tea and coffee.”

Grant tore his gaze away from Fitz and busied himself by putting the groceries away. Action was more preferable than the looming unknown Fitz brought.

“Sorry to come over unannounced,” said Fitz. “I should have called first.”

Pearl waved him off. “No, no. it’s fine. You can stay for dinner. We could use the company.” She bustled about the kitchen with a vigor that belied her age. “The casserole I put on earlier should be just about done soon too.”

“I --err--”

Grant stuck his head out of the pantry. “Unless you have somewhere else you need to be. I don’t want The Cavalry to come swooping in to carry you off and all that.”

Fitz’s chin started to jut out. Grant already knew his answer. “No, that would be very nice. Thank you,” said Fitz, decidedly avoiding looking at Grant.

Grant scowled at him anyway. “Well, that settles it then. I need to go up and have a quick shower. A lot of mess to clean up,” he said pointedly, glancing at the other man. “Fitz, you’ll stick around and keep Pearl company, no quick getaway planned?”

Fitz stood there awkwardly in the kitchen, looking like he just got slapped.

Pearl patted Grant’s shoulder. “Less talking, more washing. Dinner will be up soon, with or without you. Fitz, could you be a dear and help me set the table?”

Grant forced out a smile. “Alright, alright I’m going.”

He made his way upstairs and found the washroom in a state of disarray. A ceramic soap dish lay broken on the floor accompanied by dirty scuff marks on the wall by window. A SHIELD standard issue black case was neatly tucked behind the door.

“Two guesses what that holds,” Grant muttered to himself. It appeared to be a solo job, but what the hell was Fitz up to and why?

He took a quick shower, rinsing off all the day’s dirt and sweat. A new kind of panic started to creep in. What was he going to wear? This was Fitz’s first impression of his new life. He had such limited options; just a duffel bag of clothes. Not the leather jacket, Fitz probably identified that as something Ward would wear. He opted for a simple navy polo and dark jeans. Grant paused when he spotted his gun, tucked away in the bottom of the bag. All of his training screamed to take it, to be prepared for any outcome, but the 9mm was left in the holster. No, that wasn’t him anymore.

He paused in front of the mirror and fixed his hair. “Get a grip,” Grant told his reflection. He sucked in a deep breath, willing himself to at least appear calm. Anything less was just unacceptable.

Grant could hear Fitz’s voice as he headed downstairs.“Erm, no I hadn’t been to Florida before. My colleague - well, my best friend really- she was always on about the CDC, in Orlando, their research on rare diseases is one of her favorite....well ah, nevermind. Um, er my dad would love to visit the JFK Space Center. Maybe I’ll find time to check it out and get him a souvenir or two.”

Pearl had a smile on her lips, clearly taken with poor flustered Fitz. She nodded when she caught sight of Grant by the doorway.

“Just in time, Grant,” she said, setting out plates on the kitchen table. The formal dining room was never used, let alone opened, and Grant had never dared to ask why. He sunk into a chair opposite Fitz. The casserole gave off a rich, hearty aroma. There was also a basket of warm crusty bread for dipping, and a jug of cider made by Pearl’s friend at the local market.

“I’m afraid it’s just a simple dinner tonight, boys,” continued Pearl, as she doled out the casserole. “But there’s absolutely decadent dessert to follow.”  
“She’s got a wicked sweet tooth,” said Grant, winking at Pearl.

She held her head high, feigning self-righteous purity. “No harm in the occasional indulgence,” she sniffed.

 _“Occasional?”_ spluttered Grant.

Pearl decidedly ignored him and patted Fitz’s arm. “My late husband, Graham, was a diabetic, so there was never any real dessert. I had to hide my candy away in a canister in the pantry.”

“In fact, that’s how Pearl and I met. Why don’t you tell Fitz that story? I’m sure he’d kill to hear it.” Grant shot a tight smile at Fitz. That had to be why he was here, right? To make sure he wasn’t taking advantage of an old lady. Fitz probably thought he had Pearl under duress, thinking the worst of him like everyone else eventually did.

“That’s right,” nodded Pearl. “Every Wednesday, I visit the girls at the convalescent home down by Druiscott, and then I go have a coffee at the Beverly and watch the people go by. Some would say it’s dull, but I like my routine. This one afternoon at the Beverly, I spy a handsome young man,”

Grant averted his gaze, suddenly finding his dinner very fascinating.

“- our Grant here - clearly an out-of-towner on account of his lack of a tan and being neither old nor with a rowdy young family. They’re the only types we tend to get here in Pleasant Beach in the off season. But I digress. There was a loud bang - someone with car trouble just outside, I think - everyone in the cafe jumps, one of the waitresses drops her stack of plates. Silly fool. But Grant, his first instinct is to go for a gun at his side. Wasn’t kept there on the day, but his hands weren’t none the wiser. I’ve seen that before, back when my Graham came back from the war. War has it’s way of leaving it’s mark on men.”

There was an awkward pause at the table. Grant could feel Fitz’s eyes on him and shovelled in another mouthful in an effort to avoid talking.

“So I asked him if he served, we got to talking and I thought we could both help each other out. The ladies had a lot to say about that, but I paid them no mind. After eighty years on God’s green earth, I trust my gut when it comes to people. Never served me wrong.”

Fitz shot Grant a look. “Oh?”

A smile lit Pearl’s face. “Well, he might be a bit of a ratbag, but he’s got a good heart, somewhere.”

Grant affected mock outrage and made a show of pulling a dagger from his back. “Et tu, brute?”

Everyone around the table burst out laughing. Grant noted the tension had left Fitz’s posture.

“I’m really enjoying this casserole, Pearl. It reminds me of my mum’s cooking back home. She used to-”

Grant’s attention drifted away from the conversation. He was too busy watching those soft lips form shapes around the words that were tumbling out of Fitz’s mouth. He could still remember how those lips felt pressed against his own, a last kiss he’d stolen while Fitz was still asleep. It had been so hard to leave him there, curled up and toasty warm in bunched up sheets. What if he’d stayed? What if their adventure hadn’t ended there? Where would they be now? Or was playing boyfriends just another alias, lying to themselves about the inevitable?

There was a lull in the conversation. Grant blinked, Pearl and Fitz were both staring at him.

“Sorry, I spaced.” Grant swallowed. He never got this distracted. What’s going on with him?

Pearl patted Fitz’s arm. “The girls probably wore him out this afternoon. They’re more than a handful. Poor Grant,” she teased.

Fitz grinned brightly and shot a look at Grant.

“Hey, they’d be too much for any one man,” protested Grant, leaning back in his chair. “I train them outside so it’s easier to escape them.”

“Cheryl turn up this time?” asked Pearl.

“Yeah, she seems better.”

Pearl turned to Fitz. “Cheryl’s husband was a bit too generous with his fists, so our Grant here went and kindly sorted him out.”

Fitz shot him a worried look. Grant shrugged. “I just roughed him up a bit, scared him a little. Threatened to break his arm, that sort of thing.”

“I would have broken it,” huffed Pearl.

Grant looked over at Fitz. “Just because we want to, doesn’t mean we should,” he said softly, a twinge of sadness flaring up in his gut.

 

                                                                                                * * *

 

Meanwhile, back at the hotel room…

“Step away from the laptop,” ordered Simmons, prising it away from Skye’s grasp. “Don’t make me start about eye health and the causes of macular degeneration. Fitz will be fine. We have shifts for a reason.”

Skye started to grumble but stopped when she spotted the tablet left on one of the beds. She leapt up and dove on the bed to snatch it up, fingers already tapping on the screen.

“Don’t worry, no more surveillance. But we do need a movie or something. That’s what they do on sleepovers, right?”

Simmons sighed as she plonked herself down beside Skye. “I wouldn’t know. I went to boarding school.”

Skye gaped at Simmons. “Get out! Did you have to wear one of those fantastically terrible uniforms? Tight ties and ugly tartan skirts?”

“Tie yes, tartan no. We had to wear a blazer in winter and a straw hat, the old fashioned sort with a ribbon tail, in summer.”

Skye’s face lit up. “I need pictures! I gotta look them up! Please?”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Ugh, fine. But we are watching a boarding school movie.”

“It wasn’t fun like a endless sleepover or something,”said Simmons stiffly. “If that’s what you're thinking.”

“No?” asked Skye, momentarily distracted. Her fingers moved rapidly on the tablet, using her special brand of technological wizardry to download a copy of _'St Trinian’s'_ and get it playing on the cheap hotel TV.

“No. Dad only sent me there because he went to one as a boy. Same with most of the girls there, and the rest, their parents thought it was posh to send their kids off to some fancy boarding school.”

“So snobs and people desperate to be them?”

“Pretty much.”

They fell silent, watching the chaotic scenes of the film unfold.

“I don’t know if that’s fair of me,” said Simmons softly, breaking the silence. “I wasn’t there long.”

“Yeah?”

“This awful girl, Jessica-Anne, had it in for me because she had started to get a hairy lip, and I stupidly opened my big mouth and told her in front of everyone about foods that were natural testosterone blockers, like licorice. So naturally, she wanted to kill me, kept hitting me in the head with her giant pencil case.”

Skye burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny!” exclaimed Simmons, giving Skye’s arm a whack. “She had like metal hole punches and chunky staplers and everything in there. She’d often lie in wait, ready to crack me one in the face right as I turned a corner. Things like that. I found out that the top students were put on an accelerated exit program, and I was out of there in two years. I guess I should thank Jessica-Anne for giving me the motivation to study harder.”

“She sounds like a total bitch! You know, I could hack her... like nothing too major. Just get her cards cancelled or embarrass her at work or something.” Skye gave Simmons her full attention, but her hands had already found the tablet, eager to create some mischief.

Simmons shook her head. “No, it wouldn’t be right. Besides, she’s not worth it.”

The Head Girl came onscreen. She had her hair in a sleek dark bob, her lips a vampy red slash stark against her pale skin. She sauntered in on killer heels, lit cigarette in hand, looking like she’d been poured into her tight pencil skirt, looking like sex and trouble.

“Goddamn, she’s _smokin_!”

“Isn’t that Gemma Arterton?” asked Simmons, desperately hoping to change the topic. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Whoever she is, I’m jealous my bangs don’t look like that. I couldn't even pull off that pencil skirt; my hips are too big. You could though. Why are all Gemma’s hot?”

“What?!” squawked Simmons, nearly falling off the bed. “Don’t be silly, Skye. There’s no universe where I could even look that glam-”

“Shut up! You totally could pull off her look. It’s mostly attitude anyway. Not that it matters coz you’ve got the figure and everything else.” Skye reached out and pulled Gemma’s hair back from her face. “I can see you with that short hair, those vampy lips and dressed up all elegantly sexy, and-“ Skye paused, her gaze raking over the other girl. Simmons froze in place, her eyes wide. “Uh, drive the guys wild.”

Simmons wrinkled her face in disgust, praying it was the right sort of reaction. “Impressing the guys has never been high on my agenda.”

“Amen to that,” said Skye.

Simmons risked a glance in her direction, but Skye’s focus was already back on the film.

 

                                                                                     * * *

 

Grant stretched back on the couch and patted his tummy contentedly. Two chocolate mousse tarts with extra mascarpone sounded like too much in theory, but it definitely didn’t feel like it. Though maybe he shouldn’t have been such a pig in front of Fitz. He didn’t need to glance over at Pearl to know she was already starting to nod off, missing her favorite show as usual.

“Grant, you said you were going to show me the work on the car?” asked Fitz, setting his empty plate on the coffee table.

Grant feigned exaggerated exhaustion. “Ah, that’s right. Must have slipped my mind.”

He led Fitz out to the garage.

The Edsel’s cherry red curves gleamed wickedly under the dim garage light. Fitz made a beeline straight for it. He lifted the hood and immediately began checking the engine innards.

“Have you got it started yet? What’s the ignition timing?” he asked before eagerly running his eyes over the engine. “Ahh, you have the ignition leads the wrong way around. It’s different for different engines, yeah? The plane of the crankshaft changes the rotation order. Have you even taken out the stale fuel yet?”

Grant leaned up against the car, watching Fitz go over the engine. In that moment all seemed right with the world. Fitz was still his adorable self.

Fitz sucked in a deep breath, his face set in a serious expression. “Sorry, easily distracted by shiny metal things. Em, what I want to say is that this wasn’t planned - I mean earlier tonight, not now - and you can still trust me. I’m really sorry you caught me breaking in - not to say that I’m only sorry because I got caught, but I’m sorry that I did it at all and now you probably think I’m some kind of crazy stalker person or that-” Fitz paused, realizing Grant was grinning at him like a madman.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” asked Fitz.

Grant stepped in close, his eyes gleaming.

“You should,” continued Fitz. “B&E is a serious crime, with serious consequences. Serious legal terms and all that. Why are you so quiet now when you had all the prickly little remarks earlier? You’re so transparent.”

“I want to kiss you,” said Grant, his voice low.

Fitz blushed and stepped back a few steps.

Grant fought back the urge to grab Fitz and kiss him. He didn’t plan on saying it out loud or even regret it but it didn’t seem like the right moment. He looked down at his feet, one foot scuffing at the dirt and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Focus, he told himself. “So...what’s going on? A bit of intel gathering on yours truly?”

“Ah, I know this looks bad. But it’s really not. Trust me. Just promise not to do anything. You don’t need to. That’s all I can say for now.”

Grant sighed heavily. “Fitz, come on.”

Fitz glared right back at him. “Oh now you want to talk? Let’s talk about you leaving me without a proper goodbye after everything that happened at the motel. Let’s talk about you disappearing for months with no contact. I get the situation with you being a fugitive but you could have at least left word. Jesus Christ, Ward, I was checking goddamn morgues!”

“I’m sorry.” Grant looked away. He couldn’t bear the raw pain etched on Fitz’s face and know that he was the cause.

“What was I supposed to think?”

“I was a mess with nothing to offer you. I thought you’d be better off in the long run.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me!”

“I’m sorry,” repeated Grant. It felt like he was always saying sorry to him, and Grant despised himself for it. When were things going to change?

“I came through here on my way down to Cuba. Go off the grid, lay low, get my head sorted. That was always one of the predetermined backup plans. _His_ plan. Staying here was my decision, _I_ get to decide now. At least here I can be someone.” Grant sighed. “Sounds so stupid, huh?”

Fitz gave him an earnestly tender look that made his stomach do flips. Fitz reached out and gave Grant’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re someone to me.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm so sorry updates are so slow, but at least this is a longer chapter :D This wouldn't be readable without my lovely beta reader, Ryan. A big thank you! The Jessica-Anne story happened to me in HS. Once she went to backhand me across the face, all I did was shield my face and somehow she fractured her finger. Guess who got suspended? Me. Still hate her.
> 
> I feel like I'm walking blindfolded with Skye x Simmons. I'm not a girl and Skimmons shippers won't tell me what they want for the pair either, so if you have any pointers/advice/encouragement that would very helpful.
> 
> I kinda know where the plot is going but not how to get there lol Maybe I should have written next chapter before posting this one, but I'm too eager to post it. I'd love to know what you think, the good, the bad and everything in between. Comments make my day!

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to leave feedback in comments or come stalk my [tumblr.](http://moodycactus.tumblr.com/)


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